Blood of the Isir Omnibus

by Erik Henry Vick

  “God, no. But I’d take a cup of clear, cool water.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” He turned to go to the kitchen.

  “I’ll be outside,” I said, gesturing to the side of the inn where the impromptu lesson was going on.

  “Yes, Yarl Ty…Yarl Hank. I’ll bring it to you.”

  “Thanks,” I called after him. I turned and tromped outside, squinting against the bright sun. The air was crisp and smelled of the sea. Wonder if those sea dragons are still at it.

  I glanced seaward, but the inn was nestled in a copse of trees, so though I could catch glimpses of the brilliant emerald water, I couldn’t see any dragons. I rounded the corner of the inn in time to see Jane barge into Yowtgayrr with her shield, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Her audience cheered.

  Sig saw me coming and ran to greet me. “Dad! Mom’s kicking Yowtgayrr’s butt!”

  “Is she now?” I said. I glanced at Yowtgayrr and met his bland gaze.

  “No, she isn’t,” said Jane. “Yowtgayrr is a very capable opponent, and he’s also a good enough teacher not to make me feel like a stumbling old cow.”

  Yowtgayrr’s expression glimmered toward a smile for a moment, then Jane barged into him with her shield again, and his gaze snapped back to the fight.

  I walked over to stand next to Mothi. “How’s she really doing?” I asked under my breath.

  “Against an Alf sverth hoospownti—swordmaster? She’d be dead in fifteen seconds or less. But against a karl? She could hold her own.”

  “What about against an Isir uhxl mathur?” I asked with a smile.

  Mothi shrugged and grinned. “Sixteen seconds, but about a second later you’d put a bunch of holes in me.” His expression grew serious. “As your skyuldur vidnukona? I might run.”

  Jane and Yowtgayrr circled each other, eyes locked, footsteps almost in unison. “Last exchange,” Jane said, her color high in her cheeks. “Don’t hold back.”

  “My lady, there’s no point in—‍”

  “I want to understand where I really stand.”

  Yowtgayrr’s eyes flicked toward me, and I shrugged. He nodded to Jane. “When you are ready.”

  Jane sprang at him, shield arcing toward his throat, axe chopping down toward his bicep on his sword arm. Yowtgayrr spun to the side, his longsword flicking out twice, and Jane cried out in surprise, watching her shield and axe go spinning into the dirt outside the square, landing before she did.

  She stood there a moment, staring at Yowtgayrr. “I’m definitely not kicking Yowtgayrr’s butt, Siggy.”

  “I guess not,” he said, sounding concerned.

  Yowtgayrr made a small bow in her direction. “It has been my pleasure to spar with you, Lady Jane. You did well.”

  “Well? After what you just did?”

  The Alf shrugged. “I’ve been practicing my art for centuries. You’ve been practicing for months. You did well, and I say this as a qualified judge of your progress.”

  “If you say so,” she said, looking at her shield, her axe, then her unmarked hands and forearms.

  “I do say so,” said Yowtgayrr.

  “As do I,” said Sif.

  “Will I ever be able to move like that?” Jane murmured.

  “Sif, would you do me the honor?” asked Yowtgayrr.

  “My pleasure.” Sif strapped her shield on and hefted her axe—her real axe, not a practice weapon. “Try not to die,” she said with a smile.

  Yowtgayrr smiled back and dropped into a crouch as Jane stepped out of the square. When Jane was clear, Sif screamed and sprinted at Yowtgayrr, shield up, axe whirling at her side. Yowtgayrr feinted to the right and danced away to the left, his sword and dagger blurring out, once, twice, and a third time, each blow caught on Sif’s shield. They exchanged blows at lightning speed, metal rasping against metal, feet blurring, feinting, stomping. It was like some elaborate dance.

  I thought I saw blows that could have landed, but if they had, death would have followed, and at the last possible moment, the blows were checked or turned away. They fought back and forth, back and forth, dancing across every square inch of the fighting square. It was almost impossible to follow, and the whole thing had the flavor of unreality that I associated with vintage kung-fu movies.

  Abruptly, both combatants stepped back and bowed to one another. Neither seemed to even be breathing hard. Jane shot a look at Sif. “Guess you’ve been holding back, too,” she laughed.

  Sif smiled. “Had that been a real fight, Yowtgayrr would have killed me numerous times. He is a sverth hoospownti of the highest order.”

  Yowtgayrr bowed his head. “Thank you, Sif, but you might have killed me multiple times as well.”

  Sif laughed and shook her head. “No, you’d have decapitated me in that first exchange, as you well know.”

  Yowtgayrr shrugged and sheathed his weapons.

  Sif turned to Jane. “Do you see?”

  “Yeah,” said Jane. “I see I need more practice.”

  “Yarl Hank, here’s your water,” called Tholfr, coming around the side of the inn. “Are you sure I can’t bring you some food?”

  “You can,” said Jane. “He’ll be eating bread and cheese this morning.”

  Tholfr looked at Jane and opened his mouth but closed it and nodded before looking at me and nodding. “Bread and cheese, Yarl?”

  I shook my head and laughed. “You heard her. She has an axe now; I’m not going to argue.” Tholfr smiled uncertainly and turned back to the inn. “Where are the others?” I asked Mothi.

  “Veethar and my father are talking to the karls, inviting them to travel with us back to Suelhaym. Althyof is off doing Tverkar things, probably practicing his scowl in a mirror. Skowvithr is walking in the woods.”

  “Are we ready to travel?”

  Mothi shook his head slowly, and his eyes darted to his mother. “I thought we’d take the day in rest,” he said.

  “No, we should move on. Sig, would you go round up the others?”

  “I wanted to watch Mom fight some more.”

  Jane locked eyes with me, judging my pliability, assessing my physical state. “No more fighting today, Siggy. We’ve got to get back on the road.”

  “Aw, man…” said my son, the orator.

  Sif pointed at me. “You go eat. I’ll get my bag. If we’re getting back on those horses today, you’re getting a dose of the ointment.”

  “And you will go on a full belly,” said Jane coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with Sif. “Or I’ll spank you.”

  “Couldn’t resist it, could you?” I laughed.

  “Nope.” Jane cracked a grin.

  We filed into the inn, the others heading upstairs to pack, while I slouched into the plush chair in the dining room.

  It didn’t take long to get the party ready to move. The karls had accepted the invitation to travel with us, and as Sif and I came out of Tholfr’s tiny office, everyone was mounted and waiting out front.

  As we exited the inn, Meuhlnir leaned down and said, “You know this is foolish, right, Hank?”

  “How so?”

  “These inns are built so that they are a day’s ride apart. If we leave at noon, we either have to camp for the remainder of the trip or have another half day of travel. You might as well rest—‍”

  “No. I don’t need a day of laying around.” My voice sounded petulant, even to me.

  Jane shook her head and rolled her eyes up.

  “But—‍”

  “And to be honest, I’d rather not stay at another inn and run the chance of forcing more karls to sleep in the stables.”

  “But that was only right,” said Uhkmuntr.

  “It was our pleasure and our duty,” said Neerowthr. “You are yarls.”

  I shook my head. “We’re all men, same as you.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Jane. “But I can’t say I was very comfortable putting you out, either.”

  The karls glanced at one another. “It could not be otherwise,�
�� said Lottfowpnir. “You are yarls, and we, karls.”

  “We are no better than you,” I said.

  “Hank,” said Meuhlnir in a soft, but firm voice. “Don’t argue with them. They are not upset, why should you be?”

  “Maybe because it’s not right to treat people differently because of who their ancestors are?”

  Meuhlnir shook his head. “That’s where you are wrong, Hank. It’s how our society works. Your mistake—which you repeat often, I might add—is in the arrogant assumption that what your society considered right and correct should apply to other societies, other cultures. Your values are your values, and you are free to keep them, as long as you allow us the same freedom.”

  I glanced at Jane, and she looked up and left while lifting her eyebrows. “I’m not here to tell you what to believe,” I said softly. “That would be the height of arrogance. It seems unfair, given my upbringing. That’s all.”

  “The Isir culture has existed for eons—longer than any I am aware of on Mithgarthr, I might add—and it was designed to include this caste system that you rail against. There has never been an uprising against the caste system.”

  “But you fought a war—‍” began Sig.

  “Not against the caste structure,” said Meuhlnir. “We went to war against a government that had become unjust. Nothing more.”

  “But you keep slaves,” said Sig. “How can you think that’s right?”

  “Thralls are not slaves as you understand the word. No one owns them. They are free men. Destiny attaches them to a specific yarl house for whom they work. Many thralls live their whole lives without even seeing a yarl. They are not bought and sold; they are not kept from marrying, from having a family.”

  “No,” I said, “but they are not free to seek employment elsewhere, correct?”

  Meuhlnir sighed and glanced up at the sun. “It is our way, Hank, and no one is complaining but you three. In any case, the day is not getting any closer to morning, so I suggest we head out. I also suggest you three consider my words.” With that, he tapped Sinir’s flanks and trotted back out to the road, and everyone followed.

  Yowtgayrr rode to my left, looking ahead, but glancing at me from time to time. “Thank you,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For working with Jane. And for not killing her by mistake.”

  Yowtgayrr smiled warmly. “Oh, it was my pleasure. And I would no more allow harm to come to her than I would you. Your son, either.”

  “That’s why I said thank you.”

  We rode in silence for a while, and as the road came out of the woods, I glanced at the sea. The dragons were still there but were considerably farther off-shore. “Still with us,” I mumbled.

  “Yes,” said Yowtgayrr. “Like lice, they are.”

  “Tell me something, Yowtgayrr.”

  “If I know it.”

  “You told me about the Plauinn, and how the Tverkar, the Alfar, and Svartalfar races came to be.”

  “Yes,” he said. “The First War. What of it?”

  “Well, you told me that everyone descends from the Plauinn.”

  He nodded and made the go-ahead gesture with his free hand.

  “What I don’t get is this. The three races have a few distinguishing characteristics that make them seem related. Humans—the people of Mithgarthr—and the Isir also have similar characteristics, but the two sets of peoples, those that fit the Alfar mold, and those that fit with the Isir, don’t seem to be related genetically.”

  “Genetically?”

  “Ah. A word from my klith. You referred to them as bits of the Plauinn.”

  “Oh, yes. The bits govern how a race might look but is not limited to outward appearances.”

  I nodded and shrugged. “Okay, but what about the demons? The fire demons from Muspetlshaymr, for instance. They seem to have fire inside them from the way Meuhlnir describes them. And the demon whose blood took my eye…I mean, it had acid for blood. How can they be related to us? Even remotely?”

  Yowtgayrr threw back his head and laughed. “Now you finally understand how we feel about the Svartalfar!” He clapped me on the shoulder.

  “Sure,” I said, but without conviction.

  “I’m not saying the Plauinn looked like Alfar, though some believe that. We are the closest representatives to the Plauinn…uh, genically.”

  “Genetically,” I said. “So, even though they have mutated—changed at the genetic level—very far from the Plauinn, the Alfar believe everyone is still related?”

  “Yes,” said Yowtgayrr. “Some are more closely related, that’s all. And, keep in mind that the First War fractured the very universe itself. There are strathur in which the physical laws are different, strathur in which we would die if we were to travel there. The people in those places are vastly different from us, but they are still related to the Plauinn.”

  “I have a hard time seeing how that can be possible.”

  Yowtgayrr shrugged. “How could it not be so? The Plauinn were the First People.”

  “Okay, leaving that aside, but assuming it to be true, you’ve heard about Isi and his genetic manipulation of the Isir—specifically how he defined the castes?”

  Yowtgayrr nodded.

  “Are the Alfar… Don’t you—‍”

  “The Alfar don’t judge, Hank. Neither should you.” His voice was friendly but firm.

  “You’ve been practicing not judging for eons,” I said mimicking his tone in the fighting square. “I’ve only been practicing a few minutes.”

  Yowtgayrr grinned. “But remember, we are all just men, Hank, and no man can be perfect. Do you remember Freyr’s reaction to you?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Judgmental, wasn’t he?”

  That scored a hit. “Is that how I sound to Meuhlnir and the others? As Freyr sounded?”

  Yowtgayrr shrugged. “You’ve only been practicing a short while compared to Freyr. You haven’t yet reached his level of arrogance.” He said it with a smile, but the words still stung. “Hank, every man has the right to determine what is right and what is wrong. No one has the right to tell someone else how to think, no matter how much they believe they are right.”

  I nodded, remembering how some people back home had turned an initiative of acceptance—no, a celebration—of the differences between Earth’s races into an excuse to chastise people who believed differently from themselves. It rankled that I was coming across like the PC-police back home. “Accept diversity as long as your views are the same as mine.”

  Yowtgayrr shrugged. “None of us are perfect.”

  Althyof trotted his horse up on the other side of mine. “Speak for yourself, Alf.”

  Yowtgayrr sighed, but he hid a grin behind it.

  “And what can I do for you Althyof?” I asked.

  “It’s what I can do for you, Isir.”

  “Oh?”

  “I could hobble together a trowba that would give these horses some pep and a lot more endurance. We could make it to the next inn by nightfall.”

  “Hmm,” I said, glancing at Yowtgayrr. “And what would that do to the horses?”

  “Just think of it! A hot meal, a stout ale! A bed! A pillow! A roof to cover this infernal sky!”

  “And the horses?”

  Althyof shrugged, looking sour. “It would be hard on them, but they are mere animals.”

  “In that case, I don’t think you should do it,” I said. “Plus, Veethar would probably have words for you.”

  “Ha! That one barely has enough words for himself, let alone to share with others,” he snapped. The Tverkr scowled and spurred his horse on. He galloped around a bend ahead without looking back.

  “He takes rejection well,” I muttered.

  “For a Tverkr, he does,” said Yowtgayrr. “Many Tverkar would have demanded to fight you.”

  From around the bend ahead, I heard Althyof laugh, a loud booming sound filled with derision and scorn. “Be off!” he shouted.


  With a glance at Yowtgayrr, I gave Slaypnir his head and galloped around the bend, the Alf half a step behind.

  A band of men stretched across the road, and Althyof sat on his horse. He held one of his daggers in each hand, and the distinctive cadmium red aura flickered around the blades. “You fools! Do you know who I am?”

  “Hopefully a rich Tverkr.”

  Without slowing, I pulled Kunknir out of its holster and took aim. With the preer closed, the only ammunition available is what I carry, I thought, trying to do a quick mental inventory of how many rounds I had left. I holstered Kunknir and drew Krati. If I was going to run out of ammo, I’d rather Krati be the well that ran dry. I leaned forward in the saddle, extending my arm so Slaypnir could see the pistol. He snorted without missing a step, and I sank back, letting the pistol wander down the line of highwaymen until I found the biggest one. I snapped off two quick shots, sending the rounds whistling by his head, one on either side.

  Every eye in the band of outlaws snapped up and found me charging toward them on Slaypnir. They exchanged glances and dropped to their knees.

  I brought Slaypnir to a halt next to Althyof. “I was not in danger,” he murmured. I shrugged, keeping the pistol moving back and forth along the line of kneeling men.

  “What is your purpose here?” I called to them.

  “Forgive us, Yarl Tyeldnir!” cried the big man.

  “Why? You’ve accosted my friend, Althyof. Who, I might add, was about to kill you to the last man. Don’t you know better than to threaten the man who defeats trolls in single combat? He’s a runeskowld, you bunch of idiots!”

  “We didn’t know, Tyeldnir!”

  I glanced at Althyof, who, despite rolling his eyes, looked pleased with what I’d said about him. “Now you do,” I said. “Why are you here? Who sent you to harry us?”

  The big man glanced up at me, craning his neck at an awkward angle. “No one, Yarl. We are poor, and we need to eat.”

  I sat back in the saddle, tapping Krati against my leg. It was an excuse I was well familiar with from Mithgarthr. It carried about as much weight Osgarthr as it did there. The rest of the party trotted up behind us, as the big man’s eyes darted from one to the next, his complexion getting more and more mealy as he progressed.